Ill Fates & Clay Sheep
by TheConjuringMind
Summary: (MOVIE-VERSE) Emma catches a frightful cold, and is forced to be watched over by a reluctant Enoch. Meanwhile, Miss Peregrine scrambles to find her some medicine. Emoch/Enma/O'Bloom. Humor and slight fluff.


**Disclaimer: I Don't Own Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children.**

* * *

Emma lay in bed. A terribly scratchy feeling in her throat, a light pounding in her head, and an awful aching in her arms and legs.

She had woken up early in the morning with a frightful cough, and hadn't found the energy to make it out of her own bed without stumbling to the floor boards. She attempted several times to navigate her way out of her room, but when her strength kept failing her, she thought it best to retreat back to her bed.

She thought of calling out to one of the other peculiars to help her, but didn't want to disturb them, as well as didn't want to be made a spectacle of. So she held her tongue, and tried bearing her newly-caught illness on her own.

Miss Peregrine and the others thought it mighty odd of Emma not to be up and at 'em like her usual self, but thought better of knocking on her door, due to the possibility of her being in a mood, or her just wanting a little privacy. But after being absent at breakfast, one of the three meals _all_ peculiars were strictly made to attend, the headmistress went to investigate.

"Miss Bloom," Miss Peregrine had asked her. "Are you alright dear? You look terribly pale!"

At once, the protective ymbryne was at the bedridden girl's side, and touching a hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

"I believe..." Emma began weakly. "I've caught myself a little...ahh...ahhh...choo!" she spewed a loud sneeze, powerful enough to sit her weightless body upright in her bed, only for her to fall back down in her place (her lead shoes still being on her feet since last night, to prevent her from floating to the ceiling like previous times).

"Dear me!" Miss Peregrine had said, "We _must_ do something at once. We can't have our Emma rising out of bed if she is taken ill, now can we?"

Emma gave a weak smile.

"No," she admitted, feeling like a helpless infant. "I suppose not..."

Emma gasped, her mind recalling something all of the sudden.

"The twins!" she burst rather abruptly, sitting up in her bed again only to be gently pushed back into a resting position by Miss Peregrine. "I promised them we'd go hunting for nests in the trees outside..." she finished quietly, allowing her aching body to be eased and settled.

"That's quite alright, Miss Bloom, I'm sure the twins will understand. Now you _must_ relax and rest for a while. I'll have Fiona make us some carrots for a soup, and I'll put on some tea." she said, tucking the peculiar in, and giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head before leaving the room.

Emma sighed, and waited patiently for her soup to be made. Busying herself with counting the amount of flowers on her bedroom's wallpaper, though she knew it was fruitless (having occupied the same room for over seventy-five years, she knew exactly how many flowers there were; four thousand and sixty four).

No longer finding her counting entertaining, she turned her attention to her bedroom window, and looked out at the grassy fields of their backyard.

She shivered a little under her bed's covers, though her forehead was starting to perspire. She sunk deeper into the folds of the fabric, and worried for her health.

She must be getting something awful, she thought, otherwise she wouldn't be hit with such a terrible array of symptoms. She hoped that Miss Peregrine would have her 'cure-all' tincture ready for her to gulp, because she didn't think that the soup alone would be strong enough to suppress her ailments, or break her fever.

Oh, what she would give to be feeling well again! How could she have taken all her days of good health for granted?

And dear, where was Miss P with that soup and tea!

* * *

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Miss Peregrine put on one of her finest herbal teas, and sifted carefully through an old recipe book of hers, searching for her famous 'get-well carrot soup'. Fiona came into the kitchen for a brief time to supply her with the carrots she had requested she grow outside, and helped to prepare the recipe along side her.

"Is someone ill, Miss Peregrine?" Fiona asked when the soup and tea was finished.

"I'm afraid so, Fi. Just a cold though, nothing to fret about," she said, waving the girl out of the kitchen. "Run along now, I'm sure you have other things to occupy yourself with at the moment. And you don't want to catch anything, now, do you?"

Though Fiona was a little concerned, she couldn't argue with her Mistress's reasoning, and so went back outside to play with Hugh and the others.

Miss Peregrine put her hands on her hips in deep thought. Now that the tea and soup was ready, she thought, it would be best to have a look for some medicine. But who should take the meal and drink upstairs to Emma while she went searching? She didn't want to keep her waiting, the poor thing hadn't eaten all day!

She just sent Fiona away, so there was no sense in calling her back. Hugh and Millard were having a nice game of football outside, she observed, and she doubted Emma would want to be bothered by Hugh's bees while she rested. Horace wouldn't dare come near Emma if he knew she had a cold (he was always finicky about germs).

The twins would just fight over who got to carry which dish, and more than likely spill the whole thing in the process. Olive, though she meant well, and would probably have the perfect amount of pep that Emma needed to lift her spirits, did have a habit of burning the things that she touched, and was quite clumsy when she was nervous (something she was sure to be when she realized that the broth in the bowl was 'get-well carrot soup').

Now who did that leave her with?

Awfully stressed about the situation, Miss Peregrine broke out her smoking pipe. She was ready to light it when she noticed a certain brooding adolescent walking past the kitchen doorway, a couple of jars in his hands, and quickly put her pipe away, suddenly having an idea.

"Enoch!" Miss Peregrine called him over cheerfully, despite the circumstances. "You'll be a dear and take this upstairs?" she asked casually, gesturing to the bowl of soup and cup of tea on the counter.

Enoch froze in his place, eyes wide, and irritation practically radiating from his body, but nevertheless slowly turned on his heel to face her.

Had it been anyone else, he would've snapped "Do it yourself!" and then proceeded to walk off into another room. But because it was _Miss Peregrine_ , the one person in the entire loop that genuinely cared for, and respected him, he swallowed his pride, and exhaled an annoyed breath at the inconvenience it was to be to him.

His jaw tightened, his brows struggled to not furrow, and immediately his lips twisted up into a forced smile (one he'd kept specifically reserved for Miss Peregrine).

"I would love to Mistress," he began falsely. "but as you can see," he gestured to the jars of hearts and miscellaneous innards he carried in his arms. "my hands are quite full, as always, and I'm certain there's another who'd be more up to the task." he shrugged and began walking off.

But Miss Peregrine would have none of it. She walked over to his fleeting figure and caught him by the arm, stilling his movements, and locking her eyes with his.

"That was _not_ a request," she informed him, narrowing her eyes at him and quirking a brow at his behavior. "that was a command."

Enoch stared back at her wide-eyed, swallowing uncomfortably. There wasn't much that Enoch O'Connor feared, aside from the hollows and wights (which were supposed to be a secret), but this side of Miss Peregrine (along with the few times he had witnessed it, as well) was definitely something to fear. Or at least be wary of.

When she had that unsettling look of determination in her eye, there was no telling _what_ she would do next.

So instead of irritating her any further, he decided to set aside his moment's plans of transporting his jarred hearts and brains to his work-room, and carry whatever darned bowl of soup, or cup of tea that she wished.

Enoch sighed once more, this time in defeat.

He nodded his compliance in performing the said task, shrugged away from her grip, and swapped his jars for the bowl of soup and cup of tea on the counter.

"Where to again?" he asked, having forgotten where she'd told him to bring them.

"Upstairs," she said, busying herself with sifting through one of the kitchen cupboards for a particular elixir.

Enoch cocked a brow. Miss Peregrine _never_ let them eat anywhere other than the dining room or kitchen while in the house. Unless under special circumstances; when one's birthday came around, or some one was ill.

"In Emma's room," she specified, moving around a few bottled spices and discarding empty ones whenever she came across one. "By her bedside table, if possible," Enoch's entire demeanor changed at the mention of the airy blonde, and his eyebrows lifted in slight interest.

Though Miss Peregrine couldn't see the look on his face (what with hers being fixated on the items in the kitchen cupboard), she could tell by his momentary silence that he was caught in a thoughtful trance, and barely suppressed the small chuckle that tickled the back of her throat, as well as the smirk that threatened to over-take her face.

"To her _room_?" he questioned after a while, knowing fully well it wasn't her birthday, and trying to confirm his suspicion. "Is she alright?" he asked casually, turning his head when she popped hers out of the cupboard to meet his eyes, hoping she wouldn't see the concern that was no doubt making its way to his face.

"I'm afraid Miss Bloom has taken ill today," she replied with a sad smile.

Enoch didn't want to seem vulnerable or transparent, so he kept his face void of emotion, and bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. Unfortunately for him, his lack of expression and snarky remark only confirmed what Miss Peregrine already knew, and made her teasing of him much easier.

"Has quite the fever, that one," she said. "The soup should remedy that, though. And the tea should numb the aching in her head, as well as pain in her limbs. But those chills..." she trailed off, thinking back to when she'd left Emma's room, and caught a glimpse of her shivering while she peeked in through the door-way, despite her being wrapped in several blankets.

Though her concern was genuine, she thought it only funny to worry Enoch of such matters.

Poor thing, she said in her head. She was cruel a ymbryne, wasn't she?

She smiled to herself at the thought.

What was she looking for again?

The medicine! Right, of course.

She quickly shook her head to get herself back on track. She took one last look at the cupboard (which was now empty after removing the spices and empty bottles) and sighed.

If it wasn't in the cupboard, then where _did_ she put it?

She whipped herself around to face Enoch again, and ask him if he remembered where she had stored it last time one of them was sick (Bronwyn, if she recalled correctly), only to find that he had fled the kitchen, and was halfway up the second flight of steps leading to the upstairs.

She thought of calling out to him to help her find it, but decided against it, and shook her head.

Emma definitely needed the soup, as well as the tea, and could probably use the company anyhow. Who knew? The two of them might actually bond a little over the matter.

* * *

Enoch stopped at Emma's room's open door, contemplating knocking, or just stepping inside. Either way it would be awkward, he decided. Neither of them had _ever_ gone into each others' rooms. Not to summon them to dinner, wish them goodnight, or anything. Granted, they _were_ both too mature for such juvenile actions (him more so than her), but still...

It was strange.

Foreign territory.

Though he _was_ quite fond of her if he were being completely honest with himself, she simply couldn't _stand_ him, and despite his efforts (however small, and futile), she would probably never be able to tolerate him. At least, not for long.

Attempted conversation or not, it always ended in bickering.

It was just their way.

Still, it irritated him that she, of all people, could come close to taming him, not to mention set him on the path to becoming what everyone else in the household called 'a decent human being'. Nevertheless, it was an unavoidable feeling in his chest, a tug, if you will, that he couldn't crush or suppress throughout the years of living in the loop, and so there was no point in fretting over it. Not now, anyway.

Emma _was_ ill, he reminded himself, so no matter how at odds they were with each other, there was no logical reason for denying her some soup and tea. He may be disagreeable more than half the time, but that didn't mean he had to be cruel.

He took a deep breath to ready himself, fully expecting her to yell at him and order him to get out, and slowly peered inside her room.

To his surprise, she was fast asleep. An arm dangled off the side of the bed, breathing even, face covered in perspiration, and wavy locks sticking to her forehead.

He wrinkled up his nose at the sight. She was usually a treat to look at, a beautiful vision of a blonde goddess dancing in his head. But _now?_ How could he have possibly thought she looked decent enough to pine after? He shuddered to himself at the thought.

Oh well, he figured, he may as well drop off her tea and soup.

Enoch entered the room cautiously, stopping every few seconds to make sure he hadn't interrupted her sleep, and then continuing to the bedside table to set down the cup and bowl.

He accidentally 'clinged' the two ceramic dishes together when he put them on the table, causing her lids to slowly flutter open at the loud, ringing sound (no doubt aggravating the headache Miss Peregrine said she had), and that's when Enoch decided to make a run for it.

He doubted she'd want to see his face when she woke up, let alone _hear_ his voice.

"Hey..." she called out to him as he dashed to the door, voice coated with tiredness.

Enoch stopped in his tracks.

Maybe she would go back to sleep? He hoped.

Perhaps she hadn't seen his face? His mind suggested.

Maybe she thought he was someone else?

"Get back here you troll..." she commanded, lifting her head in exhaustion, face attempting to scowl with what energy she had left.

Nope, she knew.

Enoch threw back his head and groaned, but returned to her bedside nevertheless.

"What?" he asked, "I already brought your bloody soup and tea. What else could you possibly want with me?"

Emma folded her hands over top her chest, and turned her head to her room's window. He figured since she didn't have the energy or the means to stalk off in a huff like she'd normally do when he'd insulted or angered her, that turning her head in the opposite direction of him was the next best thing.

Enoch scoffed and crossed his arms, standing his ground.

"You must be joking," he half smirked, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're going to give me the silent treatment? Though I'm not fond of games, Em," he said. "and you know perfectly well," he added, narrowing his eyes at her for good measure. "I shall play this 'game of silence' with you. Because if my presence bothers you so much, then I shall stay here, and accompany you throughout the rest of your miserable day!" he finished, pulling the chair that sat at her vanity table away, bringing it beside her bed, and plopping down in it in retaliation.

"You brought this on yourself," he told her, determined to sit in his place for the whole afternoon, if necessary, until she caved and lost their "game of silence" as he so called it. It wasn't until after he said those words, though, that they sunk in, and he realized; that between _her_ pride, and _his_ stubbornness, he probably _would_ be sitting in that chair for the whole afternoon, maybe _longer,_ and there were so many projects, so many experiments he'd never get to finish. Or even start, for that matter.

Great...now look what she made him do!

Enoch crossed his arms and scowled at her.

She continued refusing to acknowledge him, though she could see him in her peripherals.

Both peculiars held their ground for quite a while. Enoch busied himself with glancing around her room to try and get a perfect mental image of it in his head (for he'd likely never enter it again) and occasionally picking at his nails, or looking over at her while _she_ kept her gaze on the window, and the fields outside.

Emma coughed a couple of times, startling Enoch for a moments before he managed to regain his composure, and sneezed a number of times as well. But other than that, the room was filled with silence.

It wasn't until she attempted to eat her now chilled soup (and managed to do nothing but spill it all over herself) that the silence was broken.

"Fine!" She screeched, trying to pick up the spoon she'd accidentally flung out of her soup bowl and onto her bed's sheets. "You win." she admitted, a sense of defeat taking over her. "Now get out of here, why don't you?" she said, a hint of hurt flashing across her face as he got up from his spot on the chair. "There's nothing more you can do to make my evening any _more_ miserable..."

Enoch winced at her last words. Though even _he_ couldn't say that he was pleasant company to be around, he still felt a slight 'pang' of hurt in his chest. For what reason, he'd never know.

Enoch started to leave, but stopped himself short.

Instead, he turned himself around, picked up the spoon she'd been trying to for the past five minutes, put it in her bowl, and set the bowl on the bedside table.

"Don't even _try_ to move," he commanded her, such authority in his voice. "whatever it is you need, just _tell me_ and I'll get it. There's no point in moping around about it if you're incapable," he said, lifting his chin in the air.

Emma started to protest, but stopped when Enoch cocked a brow at her.

"My fever must be worse than I thought, Enoch O'Connor," she told him, closing her eyes for a second and touching the back of her hand to her forehead, unknowingly worrying him a little more. "For a second I thought you said something reasonable _and_ thoughtful," she smiled weakly.

Enoch scoffed and rolled his eyes, but felt a tug at the corner of his lips as well.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" she asked. "I thought raisin-hearted people like you didn't do kind things."

"Quite the contrary," he said, taking his seat in the vanity chair again. "Us "raisin-hearted people" actually do a _lot_ of kind things. They're just to subtle for any _large-hearted baffoons_ to notice." he finished, turning his head away in mock insult, and earning a surprising laugh from Emma. Her mouth widening to show all her pearly-white teeth, and her eyes closing to mere slits as she chuckled for some time at his remark.

Enoch couldn't help but crack a smile at the now contended Emma before him. Though it _was_ odd seeing her this happy around him, he did feel a strange sense of accomplishment at being able to make her laugh, even if it _was_ probably triggered by her mind-altering fever. He may as well enjoy the blissfully happy Emma while she was still here, he figured.

When her uncharacteristic laughing spell was finally over, she fell into a fit of terrible coughs and gags. Enoch's brows knitted quickly together in concern for her, and he offered that she have a few sips of her tea after the fit had subsided.

"I can't reach it..." she said miserably, looking over at the ceramic cup on the beside table.

"I'll get it," he said, picking up the tea, and bringing it to her lips without a second thought.

This caused her eyes to widen, and her brows to raise at him in amusement.

He stilled his hands for a moment, the cup just inches from her lips as he held it mid-air, his eyes rolling.

"Come now," he said, looking away in embarrassment. "just drink it,"

She smiled to herself, and shook her head. She may as well comply, she figured. She doubted she'd see this side of Enoch again.

She took a reluctant sip of the herbal tea, and then another. Enoch kept his head turned the other way to give her some sort of privacy, and after realizing that he wouldn't face her until she either finished it or said she was done, she took yet another sip of the tea. And then another. And another, and another until the small cup was empty.

Enoch spared a quick glance over at her to see if she had finished, and once seeing that she had, set the ceramic cup back down on the table.

"I'm not sure how much it'll help your coughing," he said honestly, looking down at his shoes, putting his hands together, and resting his elbows on his knees. "but Miss Peregrine said it would numb the aching in your head and your limbs."

Emma sighed and watched him tug at a loose thread on his sweater-vest once silence had enveloped the room again.

"You don't have to stay here anymore, you know?" she said abruptly.

Enoch glanced up at her with raised brows.

"I mean, if you don't _want_ to, or anything," she explained, turning her head away from him as heat began flooding her cheeks. "I'm sure you have plenty of other things you wanted to do today, other than watching over a pitiful, ill girl. You've helped enough. I'll be fine 'til Miss Peregrine comes back up with some medicine. If we have it..."she trailed off, yawning as her eyelids suddenly felt heavy and the lack of rest was starting to get to her.

"What's the fun it that?" he asked, shrugging. "I experiment with my peculiarity everyday. At least this would be something new,"

"I guess..." she yawned again, turning over on her side, and pulling the covers up to her chest. "If this is a dream, Enoch," she said quietly. "Can you do one last thing for me?"

Enoch sat up a little straighter and craned his neck towards her, his ears awaiting her last request.

"Of course," he said.

"If it's not too much trouble," she began hesitantly. "could you talk me to sleep? I'm rather tired already, as you can see, but I don't know if I can settle down long enough to let my dreams claim me."

Enoch smirked.

Never in his _life_ did he think that he'd hear Emma Bloom tell him to talk her to sleep. What world was he living in? Did he wander outside of his own loop and wind up in an alternate dimension?

One where Emma could actually _tolerate_ him and didn't mind his company? Whatever illness she has, it must be powerful, he thought. Otherwise he would've been thrown out of her room quicker than a freight train passing a stopped automobile. Nevertheless, he would accept this new-found politeness from her towards him. There was no sense in looking a gift-horse in the mouth, anyway.

"I think I have a better idea," he said, taking a small bundle of clay from the pocket of his sweater vest, and kneading it with his hands. "one you won't be opposed to," he added when she quirked a thin brow.

He sculpted the tiny ball of clay to his liking, and made a small sheep-like figure. One he _knew_ she wouldn't be disturbed by, or terrified with. It was complete with eyes, and legs, and covered in cotton-shaped wads of clay to represent a fine wool coat. He took a small, ironically raisin-sized animal or insect heart from his pocket, as well as a pea-sized brain, and put both of them in the clay sheep figure.

He set it down on her bed's sheets next to her knees, and commanded it to come to life.

At once the little sheep 'baaaaa'd' and leapt, jumping up and down, and all about the bed. It ran in little circles, and nudged Emma's hand with its snout, causing her to smile.

He wasn't too sure whether or not she would tolerate his making the sheep, what with her strong opinion on his 'disgusting peculiarity', but was relieved to find that she quite enjoyed having the little fellow around, and thought his subtle joke of 'counting sheep' to be rather humorous.

They kept on like this for some time; Enoch making the clay sheep jump and do tricks like a trained circus animal, and Emma watching on in surprising admiration for the reanimated object. Every once and a while she'd ask him to talk to her, to keep her awake for a little longer (even though she'd previously wanted him to put her to sleep), so he supposed she didn't mind listening to his voice after all.

* * *

Meanwhile, Miss Peregrine was so fed up with her inability to locate the medicinal elixir, that she neared throwing in the towel, and calling it a day. She had already scoured the entire kitchen, raked through her study, and searched through her private stash of elixirs in her bedroom's closet. Yet the famed 'cure-all' was nowhere to be found.

All the other peculiars were readying themselves for supper when Millard came into Miss Peregrine's private study (where she now resided; sitting in her chair with her legs propped on the footstool), and asked what was the matter.

"Oh, it's nothing to worry yourself about, Millard," she said, waving a hand at him, and puffing a cloud of smoke from her pipe with the other. "I've just lost one of my effects, that's all."

Millard stiffened rather notably, his floating brown jacket and pants giving him away.

"What is it?" she asked, realizing his distress.

"Which 'effect', exactly," he asked, "is missing?" he brought a hand to his hat, in embarrassment.

She narrowed her eyes at him and raised a brow.

"My 'cure-all' elixir..." she said slowly, watching for any tell-tale signs that he'd taken it. "Do you know where it is?"

"Actually, Miss P," He said, holding his hands in front of himself awkwardly, and kicking the floor a little with his shoe. "I do."

As it would turn out, Millard had sneaked into her study the same evening the elixir was last used, and whisked the bottle away to have a swig or two for himself, just to see how it tasted.

"Just out of curiosity," he said, lifting his hands up in defense.

Miss Peregrine sighed, trying to suppress the anger that was rising in her chest.

She rose from her chair and scolded him for a good five minutes.

After Millard apologized and admitted that he was in the wrong, her anger began to dissipate.

"Well," she began once she'd composed herself. "at the very least, I know where it is now, and there's still some left," she paused, apparently thinking something over. "There _is_ still _some_ left," she asked hopefully. "Isn't there?"

Millard nodded.

"Good, then we shall retrieve it from your room, and bring it to Emma, post haste!" she said, clapping her hands together, and ushering him out of her study.

When they retrieved the elixir from underneath his bed and came out into the hall, Millard grew rather curious.

"Is Emma ill?" he asked.

Miss Peregrine nodded.

"I _knew_ she must've been when she hadn't come down for breakfast!" he said, smiling at his intuitiveness. "It was so unlike her,"

Miss Peregrine have him a knowing look, and then proceeded down the hall to Emma's room, Millard trailing after her.

Her lips parted to say something, but she stopped when the both of them came to Emma's bedroom door, and peered inside.

What they saw was so strange, so odd, so out-of-character, so _un_ -Enoch-like, that the two of them just stood and stared at the strange scene before them.

There Emma was; lying in bed just as she was when she'd left her not a couple hours ago. But then there was Enoch as well; in a chair pulled up beside her; torso leaning over, and head lying next to her on the bed, both fast asleep.

A tiny clay object that appeared to be a sheep, was running all over the bed's sheets, skipping and dancing, and pecking at Emma's hand, and Enoch's shirt sleeve.

Both peculiar and ymbryne tilted their heads at the object in fascination.

"Who'd have guessed?" Millard said, "I thought they _never_ got along,"

"So it would seem," said Miss Peregrine, popping open the bottled elixir and pouring some into Emma's tea cup. Hoping she'd see it when she awoke, and take a swig of it later on.

Miss Peregrine left Millard alone in the room for a moment, to go and get something from her own room, and then returned with her brownie camera.

She pointed the rectangular, metal box in the direction of the odd pair, and let the shutter fly, a smile on her face.

"What a perfect photograph," she said, "this will make a lovely addition to my scrapbook,"

"Shall I go and get the others?" asked Millard.

"No, dear," she chuckled lightly. "Let them have their privacy. I'm certain Enoch will have a fit once he's woken up."

Millard nodded, and both of them retreated out of the room.

No one else but them had to know, he figured.

It was their own little secret. Something he'd be sure to use against Enoch, should he ever get into any tumbles with him later on.


End file.
